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The Dina
(autor's note: This piece is not written in third person as is customary for a slave to speak.)
My eyes open slowly, my body begs for more sleep even as my mind urges me on out of warm slumbers. I sit up and rub sleep from my eyes before glancing up to see if my Mistress has even found her sleeping couch sometime in the wee morning hours. A softness kisses my face as I see she is there. Even breathing tells me she is sleeping soundly and most likely even more tired than her slave. Slowly I crawl up the side of the sleeping couch to press warm lips to her fingers and slip back before awakening her.
Quiet movements carry your slave off to the small servery to prepare blackwine. Bare feet move soundlessly across the tiles as the morning tray is made ready. While the dark beverage is brewing, I slip out to the garden and gaze at the flowers. Mid-summer seems to bring everything to its full ripeness. I cup my hand around single dina still partially in bud. The scarlet petals are just beginning to curl back at the edges and unfold. One knows that soon, it will open completely to reveal its inner-most beauty for all to see. "Come sweet dina, you will grace my Mistress' tray this morning," lissa whispers.
I find a small vase, delicately curved and fluted and polish it until it sparkles before placing the small gift within. The blackwine steams in the kettle, the aroma filling the air. Mmmmm. Perfection, its ready. Everything on the tray is checked and double-checked. I move the cup a fraction to the left and the vase a little more to the corner and step back to make sure it presents an eye-pleasing picture. Suddenly a worry nags at my mind. Has my beloved been eating correctly or has she been snatching morsels on the go? She will at least have some toasted sa-tarna with butter and honey to begin her day. I turn to select a saucer and place the offering there to tempt her palate.
At your bedside, I kneel and put the tray down without making a noise. My eyes wander over your face. My thoughts sing out, yes, this is my love Mistress. My hands lift and comb through my hair. Almost as if they have a will of their own, long fingers begin to divide and twist three sections of hair. My eyes close as I work, kneeling before my sleeping Mistress, I move as if her gaze were upon me. A flush begins to kiss fair cheekbones, satin thighs part a bit wider, back straightens to lift soft breasts with their rosy peaks higher, busy fingers work the long strands until a braid lays over my left shoulder and reaches down to curve over the fullness of my breast. A soft whisper of a sound catches my attention and I open my eyes to find you quietly watching...
Verbal Training
During the early morning hours, while the air is still cool and crisp, lissa awakens to begin preparations for the new day. Blackwine is set to brew and the servery is polished to a gleam. A redfruit cup is prepared and sprinkled with a tiny bit of cinnamon and sugar. The girl moves about quietly dusting and straightening the household. Robes left by Mistress are inspected and hanged, slippers brushed and put away, veils carefully folded and placed in a chest along with a lightly fragrant sachet of dried herbs and blossoms. As the girl works through her routine tasks her mind wanders and mulls the training that Mistress rewards her with.
There is a glow upon rosy cheeks, and a shine to dark brown eyes as Khim's possession runs through thoughts of the past 20-Ahn training. As instructions were given, a wave of inner peace enveloped the slave girl. This task might have been a hard one for some but it was a welcome one to the girl called lissa. To treat all as her betters is a way to show respect to its deepest level. To some, it might have been a demeaning task; to the slave that embraces her station it is a glorious opportunity to fly. As thoughts wander, one thing comes to mind and a small frown furrows a normally smooth brow. More is the pity that other slaves couldn't join in the training by being bold enough to assign some small task. It is a shame that most slave girls didn't even realize that slaves of higher station were normally called Mistress by the lower level slaves. It was pleasing that sadira did realize immediately the significance of being addressed as Mistress. It would have been fun to interplay with others more in that role.
Suddenly, lissa realizes she has been 'verr wool-gathering' long enough and the aroma of blackwine fills the air signaling it's readiness. The morning tray is prepared with loving hands and carried to Mistress' bedside. The she-sleen nuzzles against curled fingers resting at the edge of the couch. She rubs her cheek to the palm and plants soft kisses to upturned fingertips, sighing softly and lovingly at the opportunity to show her deep devotion.
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